


those three words over even "I love you"

by QLaLa



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, Feelings, First Time, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Missing Scene, Praise Kink, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLaLa/pseuds/QLaLa
Summary: Missing scene from episode 2x03, "Family of Rogues."Later, he'd wonder if they all could've walked away from the heist in one piece if Barry had just called him Leonard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be about 4k of pwp, but I kept thinking about how Len can't seem to kill Barry after Lewis "shoots" him at the end of this episode, and emotions happened instead. 
> 
> Title is taken from an old episode of Star Trek, when Kirk describes a novel from the future that recommends "Let me help” as more romantic than even “I love you.” I think of that quote every time Barry says “Let me help you” to Len in this episode (I also like to think that, as a confirmed Star Trek nerd, Barry knows exactly what he’s doing).
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, Elizabeth, who put up with way more late-night text messages about this fic than any one person should have to.

Len looked over the disassembled components of the cold gun, straightened the firing pin to lie parallel with the trigger guard, then started the timer again.

Cleaning and reassembling the cold gun was normally one of Len’s favorite pre-heist rituals, methodical and precise in a way that was nearly meditative, but the task brought him no peace of mind today. He’d been replaying their last heist in his mind for days, trying to figure out exactly where he’d slipped up enough to allow Lewis’s crew to get the jump on them. He tried to think back to the security system (had it been tampered with?), to the blueprints (had he left them lying out?), but he always lost the thread when his thoughts circled back to Lisa.

That had been his real failure, he thought as he snapped the rear sight back onto the gun’s barrel. Whatever else had gone wrong with the job itself, that was the reason his father had put the bomb in Lisa instead of him. Lisa could’ve done this diamond job in a fraction of the time it was going to take him and Lewis, after all. She could’ve charmed the haul away from the transport’s guard before it ever made it to the vault. But it had been Len’s job to keep his crew safe, and _that_ was the mistake Lewis was punishing him for. Not for failing to protect them from Lewis—that was a failure that had colored his life almost as far back as he could remember—but for being arrogant enough to believe that he could.

And now, to top it all off, he had the hero of Central City circling. He still had a hard time believing that Lisa had involved Barry in something this personal, though he knew the help Lisa had really wanted must’ve been Cisco’s. She had little enough interest in the Flash himself, except to make suggestive remarks about red leather whenever Len tried to plan a new job.

Still, she must’ve been desperate to paint Cisco (and by extension, the rest of Team Flash) the less-than-pretty picture of their childhood. It was her past to tell Cisco about if she wanted to, of course, and Len wouldn’t begrudge her the choice, but he couldn’t help but wish that she’d shared it in private, instead. The empathy in Barry’s eyes when he’d intercepted Len over dinner had been a lot to stomach, even for him.

 _“Let me help you.”_ Len rolled his eyes at the memory as he clicked the grip back into place and tightened the bolt. Barry had been all sad eyes and sincerity, refusing to cede the moral high ground even when Len had threatened to reveal the Flash’s true identity. It had been an empty threat, of course, but Barry could’ve at least done his pride a favor and pretended to believe him.

Len scrubbed a streak of oil from the barrel with unnecessary roughness. Barry was _involved_ now, morally invested, and he'd made it clear that this went beyond the careful truce of favor-for-favor that Len had long insisted on to maintain some professional boundaries between them.

He’d been expecting him for hours, then, but Len still felt a spike of anger when he heard the footsteps, light and precise, approaching from the front of the warehouse. When the plastic sheeting rustled in warning, he dropped the pretense of cleaning the cold gun and clicked the safety off instead.

“These visits are getting old,” he said, and the anger sharpened his voice more than he’d intended.

“Third time’s the charm.”

The smile in Barry’s voice rankled, and Len had the gun charged before he was fully out of his seat, and leveled it toward Barry as he turned.

He hadn’t quite brought the gun to chest-level when he caught sight of Barry’s unmasked face, and his arm fell back to his side a bit lamely before he realized he’d made the decision to do so. No matter how many times he shot at the Flash, he couldn’t help but remain uncomfortably averse to seeing Barry Allen on the other end of that barrel.

“I told you,” he snapped, “I don’t need _saving._ ”

For his part, Barry had hardly seemed to register the charging whine of the cold gun. His gaze swept the room with no small amount of distaste, noting the shelves of salvaged tech scrap and clusters of Lewis’s empty beer bottles, but his expression was serious when he looked at Len again.

“But your sister does,” Barry said, an unhappy tilt to his mouth. “I know your dad put a bomb in Lisa. He told you he’d kill her if you didn’t help him, right?”

 _‘Your dad.’_ Len felt a flicker of contempt for Barry’s childish choice of words, but it still took all of his effort not to flinch.

He focused instead on the predatory tilt of Barry’s head as he walked closer, apparently unconcerned with the weapon that Len still held charged at his side. The look in his eyes was familiar, a righteous hostility that Len had come to expect whenever he stood between the Flash and the person he was trying to save. He couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the irony that, this time, the person was himself.

When Len didn’t contradict him—he was right, after all— Barry’s expression shifted into something sadder, a little more sympathetic, and Len missed the anger at once.

“Look, don’t worry,” Barry said, his voice gone low and reassuring. “My team’s working on a way to remove the bomb.”

Len wanted to be relieved, even felt his shoulders relax an inch, but he knew the other shoe was still due to drop. Barry wasn’t dressed like a messenger; he was dressed like he was here to get involved. He wore dark street clothes and heavy boots, his usual plaid and sneakers nowhere to be seen. The black Henley was unbuttoned at his neck to reveal a constellation of freckles at the base of his throat, and the heavy drape of his jacket only accentuated the hint of defined musculature in his shoulders.

He'd done something with his hair as well; it was darker than usual, and tousled like he'd just stumbled out of the back room of a bar. Len felt a shadow of possessiveness pass over his chest at the thought. It was ridiculous, being jealous of an imagined pair of hands in the dark, but Len suspected the effect was exactly what Barry had been aiming for. He looked young, distractingly so; more than that, he looked like someone who considered himself a threat and wasn’t.

“Who the hell is this?”

Len went utterly still, muscles tensed in an instinctive response to the dark timbre of Lewis’s voice, and he had to wrestle down the insane urge to step forward and try to shield Barry from his father’s view. The weight of the cold gun was reassuring in his hand, but it was little match for the anxiety that climbed the back of his throat as Lewis fixed his bloodshot eyes on Barry.

Barry retreated a step, and for a moment, Len thought he might actually get him out of here alive. If Barry ran with his tail between his legs, Lewis wouldn’t try to stop him; dressed like this, Barry looked like any of the other petty thieves who came sniffing around the Rogues from time to time, hoping for a handout or the chance to steal some STAR Labs tech. Lewis had no patience for these upstarts, Len knew, and hated complications this close to a heist.

But then Barry rallied, bouncing forward with a forced laugh and an outstretched hand, and Len felt their odds slide rapidly back toward zero.

“Lenny said you needed new tech,” Barry said brightly, smiling now.

Len’s blood ran cold. The complete list of people Len had ever allowed to call him that name wasn’t even a list; it was Lisa, only ever Lisa. No one on his crew would have dared to call him “Lenny,” even as a joke. Len had shot people for less.

But he wasn’t shooting Barry now, and there was little hope that Lewis wasn’t acutely aware of the anomaly. He risked a glance back toward his father regardless, and sure enough, a twisted form of glee was spreading across the other man’s face. His lips were parted in surprise, but there was a black amusement in his eyes as he swept his gaze over Barry’s body again, considering.

There was nothing to do but watch, helpless, as Barry dug himself deeper. Lewis was silent at his side, and Len knew from experience that he was studying Barry— _”Sam”_ —for weaknesses.

The collar of Barry’s shirt was cut wide, hanging on his narrow shoulders so that Len caught a glimpse of clavicle every time Barry made some (stupid, unconvincing, _reckless_ ) gesture. He wanted to reach out and catch those clever, long-fingered hands, and shove them into Barry’s coat pockets where they belonged. Every wide sweep of his arms opened his chest to Lewis, and Len could see the cruelty in Lewis’s eyes growing sharper and more targeted with every passing moment.

Len suspected that Barry was trying to project confidence, or at least the kind of cock-sure swagger that he seemed to associate with the Rogues. It was a mistake.

He looked like someone who thought he could take Lewis on and win. He could, of course; any of the Rogues could. But Sam wasn’t supposed to be a meta. He was supposed to be Len’s tech guy— _Lenny’s_ tech guy, he reminded himself, and felt an icy dread settle in his stomach.

It had been overly optimistic to think that Barry looked like any other pickpocket off the streets, and the ghastly smile beginning to pull at Lewis’s lips confirmed it. Len watched as his gaze traveled from Barry’s outstretched hand up his lean arm, over the exposed skin at the base of his throat ( _mistake_ , Len’s mind supplied), then up to his easy smile, those light eyes and the dark, thick lashes that framed them, and his messily styled hair.

Lewis’s mouth twisted into a knowing smile, and Len could tell that he’d reached the only obvious conclusion. He tried to keep his eyes impassive, watching Barry’s gesticulations with bored contempt, but he knew it was a lost cause.

Barry’s confidence visibly faltered as Lewis stared unblinkingly past his proffered hand. _Don’t_ , Len pleaded silently, _Don’t look at me._

The silence stretched taut for a second longer, then Barry dropped his hand, and glanced nervously at Len.

Len wanted to let his eyes fall shut against the crashing sense of defeat. He couldn’t blame Barry, not really; the kid didn’t seem to know what he looked like half the time, and didn’t realize how effectively he was pulling the wrong kind of con right now.

“You’re telling me you think this kid can crack a Draycon keypad?” Lewis asked. His gaze snapped back to Len knowingly on the word “kid,” and Len curled one finger over the cold gun’s trigger to anchor himself as he stared back with forced indifference.

When Barry stepped forward, angling between them, Len couldn’t stop his gaze from flickering to him in silent warning.

“I _did_ help Snart steal the Kahndaq Dynasty diamond from Central City museum last year,” Barry said. “That was locked up behind an Amertek Industries Phase Three suppression door with a Draycon XL-1218 keypad.”

He tossed a cocky smile in Len’s direction as he rattled off the name, and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth when Len grudgingly caught his eye.

Len felt more than saw it when Lewis glanced at him, incredulous. Waiting for him to put Barry in his place, he knew; waiting for him to say that he was perfectly capable of cracking that safe on his own, and maybe to ice one of Barry's hands for speaking out of turn.

Barry glanced between them, and his gaze was watchful but unafraid. There was something intoxicating about the restrained contempt evident to Len in every line of Barry’s frame, the quiet power there, the unconscious disdain that could only come from knowing that he was always the most dangerous thing in the room. A vindictive pleasure sparked in Len's chest as he watched his father’s face color with furious disbelief, and he let his lips pull into a reckless smile when Barry’s eyes met his.

“Couldn't have done it without him,” Len said. He let his voice drop and curl around the words, a little too dirty and a lot too intimate.

Barry all but preened. His gaze, when he turned it back on Lewis, was amused and arrogant. Len took a moment to catalog that cocksure smile, even though it meant missing Lewis’s face turn another shade darker.

This was beyond what Lewis would tolerate from him, he knew; he thought he and Barry were fucking, sure, but Len had just crossed the line from tolerating Barry’s insolence to encouraging it. It was a slap in the face and Lewis was sure to retaliate, but for a moment, the conspiratorial glimmer in Barry’s eyes was enough to make it worth it.

Then Lewis stepped past him into Barry’s space, and the last of his amusement drained away. Lewis had always been too good at catching Len off-balance and forcing him to show his hand, had done it enough times for Len to recognize that it was happening again here. He’d flaunted his attachment to Barry for a second’s satisfaction, and Lewis had pounced. The command was clear in the way Lewis slid his hand into his pocket, fingers no doubt curling around the dead man’s switch, and glanced at Len over his shoulder: choose.

Len dropped his gaze, and gritted his teeth against the roiling shame that followed. He couldn’t protect Lisa and Barry at the same time; he knew it, and it was the reason he’d repelled Barry’s offers to help over and over again, all week. He’d been foolish to let himself forget it, lulled into a false sense of power by Barry’s easy confidence and mischievous green eyes.

“Okay, _Sam_ ,” Lewis drawled, and Len took a fierce consolation in the way Barry only quirked an eyebrow at Lewis’s uncomfortable proximity. “Let’s go.”

Lewis clapped Barry on the arm, too rough, hard enough that Barry swayed from the hit, and Len nearly shot himself in the foot. It was only by repeating Barry’s words to him, _“My team’s working on a way to remove the bomb,”_ over and over again like a mantra, that kept him from firing at Lewis’s back as he walked away.

“Leo,” Lewis called over his shoulder, and Len couldn’t keep from flinching at the old nickname. “I’m going to pick up the car. I expect the gear to be ready to go in an hour.” He paused like he might glance back at them, then didn’t. “And Sam too, of course.”

With that vague threat, he pushed past the plastic sheeting over the door and disappeared outside. Barry turned his gaze back to Len, and shot him an exaggerated look of wide-eyed skepticism.

“This should be fun,” he said.

Len fixed him with an icy glare, and Barry visibly faltered. The humor in his eyes was quickly replaced by confusion, and, as Len expected, no small amount of hurt.

“Leave,” Len said. He pushed past Barry on the way to his workbench, where he grabbed a duffel bag and began filling it with whatever tools were in arm’s reach. He wouldn’t need half of them for this heist, but it gave him somewhere to look that wasn’t Barry’s unhappy expression.

“I can’t. Lewis will know something’s up,” Barry said. He followed Len to the workbench, and Len hauled the bag tersely over his shoulder and stalked away to a shelving unit across the room. Barry hurried after him, undeterred. “What if he flips the switch on Lisa?”

“That’s for me to deal with,” Len snapped, and he dropped the bag onto the ground with a loud clatter. “Go back to STAR Labs. Get Cisco and Snow away from that bomb. It’s not your problem.”

“Innocent people could get hurt. That _makes_ it my problem.”

Len snorted. A muscle ticked in Barry’s jaw, and Len rolled his eyes and moved to step around him again.

“Wouldn't call any of my family innocent,” Len drawled, though his voice was tight with the frustrated helplessness he couldn't quite force down in his chest. “I’m surprised you aren’t more excited. A few low-lifes knock each other off, seems like a good day to be the Flash.”

He only made it a few feet when Barry cut him off, appearing in front of him with a crackle of yellow lightning that raised the hair on the back of Len’s neck. Len flicked the safety off the cold gun, but Barry didn’t even spare it a glance as he stepped into Len’s space.

“You don’t mean that,” Barry said. “I know you, Snart. You’d do anything for Lisa. This? Giving up? This isn’t you. This is fear.”

Len curled his free hand into a fist as he skirted Barry again, and tried to focus on the bite of his nails against his palm. It wasn’t enough; he glanced around the room for something else to distract him from his rising impatience, the indignity of being chased in circles around his own workshop, just because Barry couldn’t seem to get it through his _goddamn_ head that—

“Please,” Barry pleaded, and he reached out to catch Len by the wrist. “Let me help you. I can—”

“I won’t let him hurt you!" Len roared, turning on Barry at last. Barry tripped over his feet, eyes gone almost comically wide, and stumbled to a halt a few feet away. Len’s fingers curled around the grip of the cold gun, but there was no solace in the action, and he found himself blinking against the unexpected burning of his eyes.

“Len.” Barry’s voice was quiet, and it was infinitely worse than the shouting.

“Get out,” Len snarled, eyes fixed on the plastic sheeting along the far wall that still stirred lightly in the draft.

Barry took a tentative step forward, and Len brought the cold gun up in a violent arc and leveled it at his chest. Barry stopped but didn’t retreat, and Len forced his mouth into a sneer as he met Barry’s gaze over the lethal black gleam of the barrel.

“No suit this time, Barry,” he said. His vision went damp and blurry, and he blinked once, hard, to clear it. “Willing to bet your life that your little friends back at STAR Labs could get here in time to save you?”

Barry stared back, jaw set and eyes determined. Len resented the lack of fear there, and he curled one finger around the trigger. He applied the barest hint of pressure, just enough to power up the core, and pretended that the rush of power up his arm was reassuring. The blue glow danced across the planes of Barry’s face, set in motion by the faint but persistent shaking of his hand.

When Barry stepped forward again, his chest pressed against the end of the barrel. Len tightened his grip, white-knuckled now in an attempt to stop his hand from shaking in a way that Barry could certainly feel. Barry was watching him, too much understanding in those eyes, gone vibrant green from the cold gun’s glow. He lifted a hand slowly, fingers curled nervously, but his expression was serious when he closed his hand around Len’s wrist.

“I won’t let him hurt you, either.”

Len turned sharply away, ripping his arm free from the warm weight of Barry’s hand against his skin. He slammed the cold gun on the workbench and leaned heavily over it, shaking hands braced against the warped surface. He let his head drop between his shoulders and tried to take a steadying breath, then another.

His judgment was clouded, he knew; _Barry_ was clouding his judgment. He couldn’t think with him this close. He radiated a righteous, naive hope that made it too easy for Len to believe him, to trust him, despite a lifetime of experiences that told him there was no beating Lewis at these kinds of games. He needed him to leave; he wanted him to stay—

Barry’s hand closed over his shoulder, tentative and warm, and the last frayed remains of Len’s control snapped. He whirled on Barry, grabbed him hard by the back of the neck, and kissed him.

If he'd thought he could surprise someone with superhuman speed, he was wrong. Barry’s hand fisted in the front of Len’s jacket even as he brought their mouths together, and he pulled Len tighter against him, making the kiss sharper and more desperate before Len could even register what he’d done.

Barry caught his lower lip, hard and impatient enough that his teeth caught and Len would have winced if he weren’t pressing forward instead, chasing the heat of Barry’s mouth as he curled his fingers tighter against the back of his neck and held him fast.

This was a mistake; it felt too good not to be. He needed to put a stop to it, to brush Barry off and send him home while he still had the chance. Every moment that he kept Barry here was a dangerous, selfish choice, but it was impossible to convince himself of that when Barry was _kissing him back._ And not just out of some automatic response, but hard and desperate like he felt the same anxious urgency as he did.

He pushed his free hand under Barry’s jacket and curled his fingers over his waist, the soft material of his shirt thin enough that he could feel the warmth of Barry’s skin underneath. The thought—getting Barry out of those stupid dark clothes, stripping him out of each layer until he could run his palms over his bare skin and feel him shiver under his hands—was finally enough to make him break the kiss and step back.

“You should go,” he said, but his voice was rough with want, and he made no move to pull his hands away from Barry.

“I want to stay,” Barry replied. He slid his hand over Len’s jaw and Len let himself be drawn in again. Barry kissed him hot and slow, and Len opened his mouth to him, let him press forward with a steady intent. His cock was starting to get interested in the proceedings, and he’d have backed off if he couldn't feel Barry’s pulse humming under his hand where it was still pressed against his neck, faster even than its earlier speed. “I think you want that, too,” he added, and when he looked up at Len from under his lashes, his expression was edging on coy.

Barry’s gaze dropped to his lips, and he tilted his head to catch Len’s lips again. Len realized with a distant spike of annoyance that the kid was, in fact, taller than him, and he curled his fingers in Barry’s hair to pull him around for a better angle.

Barry broke the kiss with a short, surprised exhale, and Len took the opportunity to press his tongue past his lips. Barry made a low noise in the back of his throat and pressed closer, catching Len’s tongue between his lips and sucking on it, hard and dirty in a way that Len felt in his cock.

His hand itched to explore more of Barry’s skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the hand out of Barry’s hair, not with the way Barry’s breath caught around a suppressed moan every time he pulled against his grip, and he was somehow sure that his hand over Barry’s hip was the only thing grounding them, and if he were to let go, they would spiral back into their respective circles, might miss the chance to ever intersect like this again.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? They had spent years circling each other, maintaining that careful distance, even when it seemed after each feint and clash that they didn’t quite snap back to the distance they'd kept before, gradually shrinking closer until this, his teeth on the edge of Barry’s lip and Barry’s breaths coming fast and uneven in his ear, had been inevitable.

He tried to break the kiss, needing air and well on his way to needing space, but Barry chased his lips, and Len couldn’t help but tighten his grip in his hair to give him the pull he knew he wanted. Barry didn’t—or couldn’t—contain the sound he made that time, low and grateful, and quiet in a way that made Len want to hold Barry down and make him scream instead.

The thought was a vivid one, and the way Barry curled his fingers around the back of his neck and rocked forward to press his hips against Len’s meant it was beginning to feel dizzyingly plausible as well.

He pushed his hand under Barry's shirt at last, caving to the need to wrap his fingers around the feverish skin of Barry’s hip as he ground against him. One or both of them gasped, and Len took advantage of the break to check their position in the room, locate the workbench behind him, and turn around to push Barry back against it.

Barry’s back hit the bench and he grinned at Len, and the anticipation in his expression pulled a growl from Len as he pressed back into his space. Len slid his hand over Barry’s neck, and Barry pressed back into it, baring the long line of his throat, and Len had his mouth on Barry’s neck before he could think better of it, dragging aside the collar of his shirt to suck a bruise at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Barry’s hand tightened on the back of his neck, and he exhaled a contented sigh that made Len’s hand tighten hard in his hair and press his teeth against his neck.

He brought his teeth down harder than he’d meant to, and Barry closed one hand over his wrist with a startled laugh that turned into a groan when Len doubled down, and he arched against him like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away or move closer.

His hand tightened on Len’s wrist, just this side of too hard. The pain brought Len back to himself, and he pulled back to examine the damage.

“Shit,” he muttered, more to himself than Barry, and he swiped a thumb over the half-moon of pinprick bruises blooming over his pale skin, easily visible above the loose collar of his shirt. There was no way Lewis would miss it; this, at least, would end the argument of Barry staying.

Barry’s hand tightened impatiently over the back of Len’s neck.

“It’ll heal,” he said, clearly guessing at the reason for Len’s alarm. “Five minutes, you won’t even be able to see it.”

“Might not have five minutes.”

“Lewis said an hour. And anyway, I’ll know when he’s coming back,” Barry replied, and Len was almost distracted by the way his fingers had slipped under the cuff of his sleeve. “We have time.”

Len arched an eyebrow, an unspoken _time for what?_ Barry flushed but bit his lip against a slow smile, still too cocky, too knowing.

“You're an asshole,” Barry said, and his grin stole all the heat from his words. His fingers curled around Len’s wrist and Len let him guide his hand back under his shirt to rest over his side. His heart was beating too loudly in his ears, and he could blame some of it on the kiss, on the drag of Barry’s belt buckle against the front of his jeans, but his chest ached at the feeling of Barry’s skin under his hand, soft and warm and vulnerable.

With the hand still cradling the back of Barry’s head, he pulled him forward to bring their lips together again. He meant it to be rough, to continue the heat, but the kiss Len pressed to his lower lip was fond instead, and it was only Barry’s impatient fingers twisting in his belt loop that kept it from sliding into something too soft and honest for what this was supposed to be.

Barry tugged lightly on his belt loops, and while the request was a tempting one, Len held back, curious to see what Barry would do. The tug came a second time, a little more insistently, and then Barry gave Len’s lower lip a sharp, impatient nip and yanked him closer.

Len grinned against Barry’s mouth and let himself be pulled in, knees knocking against Barry’s. He wedged a boot between Barry’s shoes, and delivered a short kick to the inner sole of his foot to knock his stance wider. He felt as much as heard the annoyed sound that Barry made in the back of his throat, and he pressed his thigh between Barry’s legs before he could make another snappish comment.

Barry broke the kiss with a groan, and the muscles of his stomach tensed under Len’s hands. Len had intended the move as a tease, but he felt a dizzy jolt of arousal when he realized that Barry was already hard. His hands pulled insistently at Len’s jacket, at his belt, and Len acquiesced to the unspoken request with another hard press against his groin.

He’d expected another moan, maybe a curse or, if he was lucky, his name. He hadn’t expected Barry to grab for his collar with sudden urgency, short fingernails surely raising vivid red scratches on the top of his chest as he scrambled for a grip, and _vibrate_ under his hands.

He must have bitten Barry’s lip in his surprise, if the smear of blood at the corner of Barry’s mouth when he pulled away was any indication. Barry didn’t seem to have noticed, at least, too busy yanking his hands away from Len and pressing himself back against the bench with a mortified expression.

“Sorry,” Barry groaned. He turned his gaze to the far wall as he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking anywhere but Len. “Ever since I got my powers, when I try to do, uh, this? With someone else? I kind of…”

“Vibrate,” Len supplied. His tone was flat with disbelief, though Barry seemed, impossibly, to take it as displeasure. An embarrassed blush was rising on his neck, and Len realized Barry was a moment from bolting when he tracked his gaze in the direction of the door. He curled a hand over Barry’s hip and crowded him against the bench before he could get any ideas about running, not when Len had barely gotten a taste of that power coiling under his skin.

“A warning beforehand would’ve been nice,” he said, forcing his voice into something neutral, and Barry relaxed against the bench with a sheepish smile. Len’s heart skipped treacherously at the sight, and he forced his attention back the line of Barry’s body. Physical, he could do. The kid was as wired as him, looking for a distraction, and he could provide that, at least. He tightened the hand on Barry’s hip, and Barry’s skin buzzed at the touch before he could even pull him back in. There was a faint clattering as the tools behind him rattled against the bench top, and Len smirked as a couple of nails rolled off the edge and hit the concrete floor with a cheerful jangle.

Barry twisted to glare at the tool bench, as if it had personally offended him, and Len took the opportunity to press back into his space.

Barry felt like a live wire under his hands, like a loop of that half-second between touching an electric fence and the onset of the pain, although the sound Barry made when Len pressed a palm against the front of his jeans certainly sounded like it may have hurt.

The scent of ozone sharpened suddenly, and it was all the warning Len got before Barry spun them around and pressed Len against the bench in a bruising kiss. Len blinked dizzily at the sudden reversal of positions, and Barry broke away with a frustrated noise.

“Shit, Len, I want to—” He kissed him again, this time with an edge of teeth, and Len didn’t have time to get his bearings enough to kiss him back before Barry dropped to his knees in front of him.

Len stared at the afterimage of the lightning that followed the movement, faintly disoriented. Barry seemed to take this for apprehension, given the way he tapped his fingers nervously against Len’s belt.

This wasn’t what Len had had in mind, to say the least. He hadn’t had anything in mind when he’d kissed Barry, really, had just given into the need to have him under his hands, safe, protected.

Not that this was an entirely unwelcome turn of events. It was only that something about Barry's earnest expression rankled Len; after the last few days, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that this was Barry trying to _help._

“I don't need a pity fuck,” he said. It came out a little too sharp, and Barry blinked in surprise before his eyes narrowed in what was unmistakably annoyance.

“A pity fuck?” he repeated incredulously. “You think I would—I’m not offering out of the goodness of my heart, Len.”

The sound of his name on Barry’s lips was enough to lower his hackles somewhat, though Len tried hard not to examine that instinct too closely. He couldn’t deny that he wanted Barry to mean it, looking up at him through his lashes like that, his lips bitten red and his long fingers waiting an inch from Len’s zipper. Barry’s gaze shifted into something impatient.

“Dude, what do you want from me? I _promise_ I want to do this, okay, I've blown a, uh—“ He lost steam all at once, cheeks coloring, and his expression looked like he was only just realizing the words that were coming out of his mouth. It was a shame, despite the pretty blush rising in his cheeks, because Len _really_ wanted to know how he'd intended that sentence to end.

“You've blown a...?” he prompted, and Barry shot him a flustered glare.

“A, you know.” Barry gestured, his hand tracing a vaguely phallic shape in the air, and Len felt his eyebrows raise of their own volition. Barry looked away again with an annoyed huff.

“A toy. Thinking about doing this to you.”

Len couldn't quite wrap his mind around the barrage of mental images this conjured up. That Barry owned a sex toy at all was a revelation, and one that could’ve occupied Len’s fantasies for weeks. Had occupied more than one of his fantasies already, if he were being honest with himself.

Something to that extent must have been apparent on his face, because the nervousness in Barry’s expression was giving way to a self-satisfied smirk.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asked. His hand stilled on Len’s belt, one finger tucked under the leather strap where it was threaded through the buckle, poised to pull it free.

Len faked a put-upon sigh, and had to tamp down a grin when Barry’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“Be my guest.”

Len experienced the odd sensation of having his belt pulled free of his jeans at superhuman speed, and it took effort not to jump when he heard it hit a metal filing cabinet across the room, buckle first, a moment later.

“Be _your_ guest,” Barry muttered childishly, and the tips of his ears went pink when Len smirked. “Shut up,” he added, and Len was relieved to see his lips tilt up in shared amusement.

Barry slid a hand over the front of his jeans, exploratory, too light over the denim to be much more than a tease. Still, Len’s heart rate kicked up a notch at the touch, and he had to grip the bench behind him to keep from reaching out to cover Barry’s hand with his own and press it more fully against his hardening cock.

Barry glanced at Len’s hands as he thumbed his button open, and one of his eyebrows quirked up when he saw his white-knuckle grip on the table’s edge.

“Dude, I don’t mind,” Barry said, then he cleared his throat. “I’d actually, uh, prefer it.” He reached out for Len’s hand, and Len let him guide it to his hair, barely reigning in a raised eyebrow of his own. It hadn't been what he'd been holding himself back from, but he wasn't about to complain; Barry’s hair was thick and soft, and he pressed his lips to the front of Len’s jeans with a pleased hum when Len curled his fingers in it to get a loose grip.

He watched with a smirk as Barry caught his zipper between his teeth and pulled it down, a little jerkily, and paused to admire his success.

“Practice that, too?” Len asked.

“Yeah,” Barry replied, and the triumphant little grin that he flashed Len as he pulled his jeans down around his thighs made Len want to haul him to his feet and kiss him again.

He was distracted from the thought when Barry leaned in and brushed his lips over his cock through the front of his briefs. His breath caught, and he tightened his grip on Barry’s hair. Barry answered with a quiet hum of approval, and Len had to lock his knees to keep his hips from twitching toward the warmth of his breath.

Barry followed the path of his lips with a barely-there trace of his fingertips up the length of his cock, and he let his lower lip catch on the head, warm breath saturating the material there. Len watched, transfixed, as Barry licked his lips, then dragged his tongue over the head of his cock through the fabric, all damp heat, too much and not nearly enough, and Len pulled him back with a firm tug on his hair before he could do it again.

Barry looked up at him with dark and impatient eyes. The pink curve of his lips, still shiny and slightly parted, derailed Len’s thoughts, and it was only when Barry traced a knuckle over the underside of his cock again that he remembered why he'd stopped him.

“As much as I appreciate the foreplay, Barry, I don't keep extra clothes here.”

The flash of teeth he got for that was a little sharper this time, something close to that adrenaline-rush smile he was used to seeing from across an iced-over room.

The cool air grounded him as Barry hooked his fingers into his waistband and eased his underwear down over his flushed cock. He slid one hand over the exposed skin of Len’s hip, and his fingers were fever-hot where they brushed under the hem of his shirt. His breath hitched when Barry leaned in again, but he only pressed a kiss against Len’s hipbone, then rubbed his thumb in a tight circle over the spot. He moved over to the other side, repeated the kiss there, then ducked his head to suck a bruise on his inner thigh.

He wasn't going to beg, he decided resolutely; if Barry wanted to take the scenic route, it was fine by him. Barry left off with the hickey, blew a cool breath over the skin there, then began pressing a trail of kisses up the juncture of his thigh. The first was almost chaste, but they grew more open-mouthed and sucking as he moved up towards Len’s cock, only for Barry back off and start again on the other side, and Len couldn't help the way his hand tightened impatiently in his hair.

Barry grinned up at him, a little too triumphantly to sit well with Len’s pride. He licked his palm and wrapped his fingers around Len’s cock, and Len’s knees went slightly weak with relief. He was embarrassingly hard just from Barry’s teasing, despite normally needing more contact to really get there. He shifted more of his weight to the hand still braced on the workbench. Barry worked his fingers over his cock in a lazy rhythm, teasingly slow as he leaned in and brushed his lips over the head of his cock again.

Len scratched his nails over Barry’s scalp appreciatively but kept himself from urging him forward, trying to focus on the feeling instead. Barry acknowledged it with a quiet hum, and the sensation of it, the faint vibration of his lips, had Len biting back a curse as he tightened his grip on the workbench.

Barry closed his lips around the head of his cock and Len _did_ curse, both at the feeling of the wet heat and at how good Barry looked with his mouth around him, lips and eyes dark and the color high in his cheeks. He gave Len the barest hint of suction, and he tightened his grip just enough to give him some real friction on the next stroke.

When he was fully hard, Barry backed off, and cast a glance up to meet Len’s gaze. Checking in, Len suspected. He quirked an eyebrow and twisted his fingers impatiently in Barry’s hair, and Barry responded with a quick, pleased grin before getting back to work. One hand braced on Len’s hip, he flattened his tongue against the base of Len’s cock and dragged it in a heavy stroke up to the head.

He took Len into his mouth with no other preamble, and Len exhaled sharply at the sudden wet heat of him, had to swallow hard to cut off the breath before it could turn into a moan.

Barry flashed him a knowing look as he worked himself lower on Len’s cock, and the challenge in his eyes didn’t bode well for Len’s blood pressure. With his free hand, Barry fumbled for the zipper on his own jeans, and Len watched with rapt interest as he worked the button open, his strokes gone a little off-kilter from his divided attention.

Barry arched when he got his hand on himself, and Len carded his fingers through his hair encouragingly. He leaned further back against the workbench, fighting to keep his hips still.

Barry pulled off him to give Len a curious look, though he kept a steady pace with his fingers, all the more distracting for the way his other hand kept the same rhythm around his own cock.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he said, and his eyes were determined in a way Len was used to seeing from behind a mask of red leather. “You won't hurt me.”

The invitation was a tempting one, but Barry’s technique betrayed a relative inexperience, or at least rustiness, that Len didn't want to push.

“Your pace is fine,” he said shortly. He was past the point of maintaining a detached tone, but he still managed to focus his attention enough to keep his voice even.

“My pace?” Barry echoed, and the smile he gave Len was downright dangerous.

In retrospect, Len should've expected it, but he still gasped a sharp, “fuck, _Barry_ ,” when he tightened his grip on Len’s cock and vibrated his hand.

It felt— _fuck_ —it felt beyond good, but there was no way Len would last if Barry kept it up. Still, he only narrowly had the presence of mind to use the hand in Barry’s hair—fingers twisted hard enough now that it had to hurt—to pull Barry back until he let go of Len and dropped onto his heels with a laugh.

Len fixed him with a glare, and got a smug look for his trouble.

“Cute trick,” he sneered, and Barry laughed again, then reappeared in Len’s space with a split-second’s crackle of lightning.

Len allowed the kiss with no more than a cursory grumble, and chased the curious taste of sex and ozone on the inside of Barry’s lips. He located his hands—Barry’s power had its perks, but the things it did to his proprioception wasn't one of them—and settled them on Barry’s hips to draw him in closer.

Barry licked into his mouth, confident now, and Len felt his fingers slip under the hem of his shirt and seek out the bare skin of his stomach. The side of his hand brushed Len’s cock and Len growled into the kiss, and he tucked his thumb into the waistband of Barry’s jeans and sucked on his bottom lip.

Barry swayed closer with a hopeful press of his hips, and Len smirked against his mouth and traced his hand slowly to the front of Barry’s jeans, which were still unzipped in obvious invitation.

Len bypassed the teasing in favor of sliding his hand into them and cupping him through the soft fabric of his underwear. Barry broke the kiss to exhale a quiet _"shit,"_ and Len couldn't help but grin.

“My, my, Barry,” he said, and a fresh wave of heat licked up his spine way at the Barry shivered against him at the sound of his name. “Such language.”

Barry looked ready to give him a snappish reply, but Len slipped his hand into his underwear and Barry scrambled for a grip on his shoulders as he bucked against his palm.

“Have you thought about this too?” Len asked. He wasn't usually one for dirty talk, preferring actions to words in this as in all things, but he hadn't failed to notice how Barry’s eyes had darkened at his voice in the past. The way Barry’s breath caught when he asked that question told Len that he wasn't complaining now.

“Yeah,” Barry breathed, and Len rewarded him with a slow drag of his thumb over the head of his cock. The edges of his zipper were biting into the back of Len’s hand but he couldn't bring himself to care, not with the way Barry was rocking against his palm, slowly building up a rhythm as his hands tightened on Len’s shoulders.

“Look at you,” Len murmured. He slid his free hand up Barry’s spine, and Barry pressed closer with a frustrated noise, hips stuttering. “I was gonna ask if you wanted me to fuck you, but I think want to see you come like this.”

Another vibration had picked up under Barry’s skin by the time Len reached the end of his sentence, faint but persistent this time, and Barry took a short step backwards. He was unable to get far with Len’s left hand resting between his shoulder blades, but it still forced Len to pull his other hand out of Barry’s jeans or risk losing some skin to the teeth of his zipper. His cheeks were pink, and the back of his neck was warm with an embarrassed blush when Len curled his fingers over the soft skin there.

“Something I said?” he asked, feigning a polite innocence.

“Yes,” Barry snapped. Len brought his hand around to cup Barry’s jaw, and tilted his chin back up, though his eyes remained fixed resolutely on the floor.

“Yes, it was something I said, or yes, you want me to-”

Barry’s gaze flashed back to his, heated and serious.

“Yes,” he repeated. And Len should’ve backed down; this had gone far enough. But the heat in Barry’s eyes was starting to feel like a personal challenge, and he ran his nails over the top of Barry’s spine as he gave him a considering look.

“There's a foreman’s room upstairs with a bed,” he said, voice overly casual. “It's in the southeast corner of—”

His feet were out from under him in an instant, and the lurching feeling of moving at such an unnatural speed, like someone had caught him in the stomach with a dull fishhook, was even more unpleasant than he remembered. Barry sometimes talked about his power—the speed force, he called it—like it had some degree of agency, consciousness even; if that were true, Len suspected it didn't care much for him.

He said as much when Barry came to a stop in the corner room, but Barry only laughed and shook his head.

“It doesn't work like that,” he said. Len would've liked to press him for a little more information on that, but Barry was glancing around the room with a small frown, already distracted again.

“Do you have things here?”

Len knew what he meant, and raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the Spartan surroundings. The small table next to the bed didn't even have drawers, just a small digital clock on top that blinked the wrong time no matter how many times Len reset it.

“You could've just said no,” Barry said, but he flitted into Len’s space again with a crackle of static. He caught Len in an open-mouthed kiss and hummed appreciatively when Len slid a hand over his jaw and tipped his head for a better angle.

“Wait here,” he murmured against Len’s lips, and Len didn't have time to comprehend the words before Barry flitted from his arms again, this time leaving a trail of lightning in his wake as he flashed out of the room.

He was gone just long enough for Len to feel slightly foolish, pulse racing in his ears and thoughts fixated on the memory of Barry’s mouth on him.

When Barry reappeared, it was with a black plastic bag slung over one arm, and a breathless grin on his face.

“Did you stop to pay for those?” Len asked dryly.

“I am a cop, you know,” Barry said, not bothering to look up from where he was freeing the lube from its packaging.

Len gave the bag a cursory glance, found only condoms inside, and tisked. Barry cast him another sideways look and left off trying to pry the lube’s tamper seal off with his teeth.

“If you had requests, you should’ve asked before I went.” He said it with an air of finality, but Len only had to wait a moment before he caved to curiosity. “Why, what’d you want?”

“Mm, nothing in particular,” Len allowed. “Though I thought you might pick us up something a little…” He mimicked Barry’s earlier crude outline of a toy, and Barry turned pink.

Despite his embarrassment, he looked indecisive, like he might go and get one anyway. And while Len was more than a little curious to see what Barry would come back with, they were running short on time as it was, and Len held up a placating hand.

“Another time,” he said, and Barry spluttered indignantly. Len crossed the small space and took the bottle out of his hands, and Barry seemed to give up on whatever it was he had been saying in favor of watching Len work the bottle open. If Len added a couple more flourishes than strictly necessary, well. He had an audience, and nice hands.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked. He expected more hedging, maybe another half-mimed fantasy, but instead-

“I want to ride you,” Barry answered, a little too quickly, and Len raised an eyebrow. And yes, there was the blush, but Barry didn’t back down this time. “I said I’ve thought about this,” he said, tone a little defensive, and Len hummed, considering. He twisted the cap back on the lube and dropped it onto the bed, then stepped into Barry’s space and pulled him flush against him with a hand in his back pocket.

Len tipped his head and brushed Barry’s lips with his own, just the barest touch, and he pulled back when Barry tried to deepen the kiss. Barry was a line of nervous energy against his front, but he allowed Len to tease him with another barely-there kiss with only a quiet sound of frustration in the back of his throat, and Len smirked against his lips.

“Good boy,” he said. He’d been aiming for teasing, but Barry went abruptly still against him, and he’d be damned if _that_ wasn’t the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. Len leaned back to raise his eyebrows in a silent question, and Barry averted his eyes and shook his head.

“S’nothing,” he muttered. And then, blushing badly, “Another time.”

That startled Len into a real smile, and Barry kissed him again—getting mostly teeth for his trouble—and mumbled, “Shut up,” against his mouth.

Len didn’t get a chance to press the issue, because Barry was sneaking his hands up the back of Len’s shirt, and Len was all too ready to allow that if it meant getting Barry out of a few layers, too.

He let Barry pull the shirt over his head, and he caught Barry’s wide-eyed survey of the various scars and tattoos he wore underneath. He kissed him, fast and dirty, until his eyes fluttered shut again and he pressed closer, though now with his hands taking stock of Len’s skin.

The jacket was half hanging off Barry’s shoulders already, and Len was only surprised that he'd managed to keep it on at all. He took a guess that the hood was attached, not part of some third layer that he couldn't see, and pulled on that. Barry obliged, letting the coat drop off his shoulders with a quick shrug and some undignified shaking of his arms.

The shirt beneath was next to follow; Barry pulled it over his head without waiting for Len to do so, and Len had his mouth on the lean muscles of Barry’s shoulder before he'd managed to pull it all the way off.

“Back against the headboard,” he murmured against Barry’s neck, and he grinned sharply when Barry shivered against him. “I wanna get you ready for me.”

He pushed at Barry’s shoulder, and Barry dropped onto the bed with no real resistance. He pulled his jeans down over his hips and started to shimmy out of them, and Len stripped out of his own before he leaned over the bed to kiss Barry again.

Barry tipped his head up to meet his lips with an approving hum. Len traced a hand up Barry’s bare stomach and flattened his palm against his chest, and he licked into Barry’s mouth as he pressed him slowly down against the mattress. He pulled a leg up onto the bed and climbed over him, distracted by the need to trail his lips down Barry’s chest and run his hands over that whole, unmarked skin, automatically sweeping him for injuries even where he knew he’d find none.

Barry shifted back onto his elbows and spread his knees, hands impatient on Len’s hips, and Len climbed the rest of the way onto the bed and settled heavily between Barry’s legs. He lined their hips up and dragged his cock against Barry’s through the thin fabric of their underwear, and Barry pressed up against him, still achingly hard.

Len bit Barry’s lower lip and kissed him harder, and Barry went willingly when he pushed him fully back against the sheets. He draped himself over him, chest to chest, and hitched his hips against Barry’s again. The slide of material kept them from getting any real friction, but Barry still hooked his fingers in the waistband of his briefs and urged him forward as he arched up to meet him.

A fine vibration was starting up under his skin, and his breath came in quick, shallow gasps that were beginning to bleed into moans. Len rolled his hips against him harder, chasing those noises as they came faster and higher in Barry’s throat, and the barely-there vibration became rapidly more intense until Barry broke the kiss with a gasp and shoved roughly at Len’s shoulder. The last thing Len wanted to do was pull away from the intoxicating way Barry was still buzzing underneath him, but he gathered the last scraps of his self-control and pushed up onto one arm, then sat back on his heels.

Barry was the picture of debauchery, chest flushed and rising and falling rapidly as he passed a hand over his face and cock straining against the front of his briefs.

“Give me a minute,” he croaked, and he caught Len’s wrist without bothering to open his eyes when Len started to slide a hand up his inner thigh.

Len gave a put-upon sigh and stripped out of his underwear while Barry’s breathing slowed a notch, hand over his eyes as he repeated what sounded like baseball stats to himself. Len tossed his underwear somewhere in the vicinity of the foot of the bed and settled on his knees again between Barry’s legs. He curled one hand around Barry’s calf and, when Barry allowed the touch, brushed his fingers over the soft skin behind his knee.

“You good?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Shame,” Len said, and he inched his hand higher again. “Woulda liked to get my mouth on you.”

Barry groaned, and his hips twitched helplessly as his free hand twisted in the sheets. Len’s mouth went dry, and he wondered if he could get to his phone in time to take a picture before Barry could move.

As if sensing his thoughts, Barry finally cracked his eyes open and glared down at him from under his hand. Len gave him his best innocent expression, even as he traced his thumb in light, teasing circles up Barry’s inner thigh.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Barry grumbled, and Len made a noncommittal noise.

“Last I checked, that was the point,” he said. His fingers reached the edge of Barry’s underwear, and he traced the seam up to Barry’s hip in silent question.

“Yeah, we can—yeah.” Barry bit his lip and nodded, but Len frowned at the nervousness in his expression.

“Not really inspiring confidence, Barry.”

“It's just, my powers? I can, uh, just from the prep. I usually do.”

It took Len a moment to grasp what Barry was trying to say, and he felt his cock twitch with decided interest when he did.

“Even if I don't touch you?” he asked, and Barry tapped his fingers in a distracted rhythm against Len’s hip.

“I mean, technically you'd be touching me,” he hedged.

“Not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” Barry conceded. “But I can go again, after. My refractory period is kind of… It doesn't really exist, anymore?”

Len didn’t so much file that fact away as he did paint it in bold, ten-foot script across the front of his brain.

Barry still looked faintly embarrassed as Len hooked his fingers in Barry’s underwear and pulled them down his thighs, though, and Len’s thoughts circled back to something else that he’d said earlier.

They were both quiet as Len clicked the cap off the lube and drizzled it onto his fingers, though Barry tapped his heel impatiently against the mattress as Len rubbed his fingers together to warm them before reaching down and tracing his index finger over Barry’s entrance. Barry tolerated this for a moment, then pushed back against his hand with a frustrated, “Len, come on.”

Len hummed in acknowledgment and pressed the tip of his first finger in, just enough to tease, and Barry dropped his head back against the mattress with an annoyed huff. Len leaned in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Barry’s stomach, and Barry laughed and relaxed against him. Len took the opportunity to press in to his knuckle, and Barry’s laugh broke off into a groan as he tipped his hips up to give Len better access.

“They’re incredible, you know,” Len said conversationally, and Barry managed to give him a confused look despite his hooded eyes and the impatience still obvious in every line of his body.

“Your powers,” Len clarified, and yes, there it was— a pleased blush tinged Barry’s cheeks, and he ducked his head to hide his surprised smile. Len took advantage of his distraction to press a second finger in, and his stomach flipped at the way Barry’s knees tightened around his sides before he let them drop open again, spread wider than before.

“I never get tired of it,” Len continued. He scissored his fingers, and Barry pressed back against his hand with a soft, surprised noise. “Watching you do what you do. Your speed. That little parlor trick with the lightning bolt.” He curled his fingers, and grinned when Barry jolted underneath him. He stroked his fingers over the spot again, harder this time, and had to pin Barry’s hips to the mattress with his other hand when he arched into the touch.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked. His voice cracked around the words, and Len withdrew his fingers almost all the way before pressing back in.

“I thought that was fairly obvious,” he said, and Barry brought a knee up to thump against Len's side, annoyed.

“You know what I meant.”

Len acknowledged this with a slight inclination of his head.

“You want me to hold you down and tell you how good you’re being for me,” Len said, and Barry stilled under his hands. “How good it feels when you give yourself over to your powers. How gorgeous you look, riding my hand like this. How much I want to fuck you.”

Barry stared at him with a caught expression, eyes wide and dark, and Len let go of his hip to trace the back of his knuckles over the blush that had spread halfway down his chest.

“But,” and Len punctuated this with a casual shrug, “you don’t know how to ask for it.” He crooked his fingers against Barry’s prostate again, and Barry’s eyes fluttered shut as he twisted under Len’s hands with a soft groan. “Just thought I’d meet you halfway.”

And god, the noise Barry made at that. Len wanted his mouth on him yesterday, but Barry’s breath was still coming fast, and his thighs were shaking now, even as he pushed his hips back to meet every press of Len’s hand. He was close, just from this—Len’s hands getting him ready for his cock, his voice encouraging him—and it was getting hard for Len to remember why that was supposed to be a reason to hold back, not curl his hand around Barry’s cock and tell him to come.

“Fuck, Barry, look at you.”

Len hadn't meant to say it out loud, but Barry’s blush darkened, and he gave a strangled-sounding laugh as his knees tightened around Len again.

“Wish you'd do more than just look,” he said, and Len didn't need telling twice. He swiped his thumb through the precum at the head of Barry’s cock and wrapped his fingers around him tightly, and Barry cursed and arched, trying to push back on Len’s hand and up into the cage of his fingers at the same time. A vibration sparked under his skin, and it was an odd sensation against Len’s hands but fuck if it wasn't one of the hottest things Len had ever seen, and it only took a few strokes before Barry’s knees tightened hard around his sides and he came with a ragged cry.

Len was glad he didn't have a hand free to touch himself, otherwise the sight of Barry arching up against his hands, one hand scrambling for Len’s wrist to hold his fingers in place around his cock as he came, probably would've ended things right then and there. He pulled his fingers out carefully, earning a tight noise from the back of Barry’s throat, then pushed back in with three as he worked Barry through the aftershocks with his other hand.

Barry breathed a dazed affirmative noise and dropped his legs open further, and the way he rolled his hips back against the stretch forced Len to bite the inside of his cheek hard and look away from where his fingers were pressing into Barry's body.

“Do you need more?” he asked. He crooked his fingers, and Barry exhaled on a whine and pushed back against them.

“No, but just let me—”

A faint static charged the air, raising the hair on the back of Len’s neck, and he closed his hand over Barry’s wrist before he could flip them again.

“Use your words, Barry.”

Barry grinned sheepishly, and the uncanny yellow glow blinked out of his eyes as quickly as if Len had imagined it.

“Switch with me?” he asked. “Sit against the headboard.”

Len caught Barry under the arms and hauled him forward, then twisted and dumped him further down the bed. Barry allowed the manhandling with a laugh, and he pulled himself up onto his knees as Len sat back against the headboard.

“Not so fun, is it?” Len asked.

“I don't know,” Barry said, still grinning. He swept his gaze over Len’s arms, then his torso. “I think that might've done something for me.”

Len reached out to pull Barry back in, but Barry dodged him to rifle through the plastic bag on the floor instead. Len bit back his impatient sigh, but Barry still gave him a knowing, unimpressed look as he climbed into his lap.

“You want to come inside me, get tested and buy me dinner first,” he said. Len rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips quirked up and Barry pressed an amused kiss there before sitting back to roll the condom over Len’s cock.

Len brought his hands to Barry’s hips and tugged him forward impatiently as soon as he was done, and Barry laughed and let Len drag him into his lap. He settled his thighs around Len’s hips, and Len slipped one of his arms around Barry’s waist to pull him flush against him. The move brought their chests together, and Barry jumped when their cocks brushed between their stomachs.

“Oh,” Barry said, and Len hummed in agreement. He tightened the arm around Barry’s waist and swept his other hand up his spine, curling his fingers at the end to scrape his nails over the back of his neck. It was a possessive gesture, he knew, but Barry only shivered and pressed his face into the side of Len’s neck, where his breath tickled Len’s collarbone on a surprised exhale.

The intimacy of the position was probably more than he'd expected, but that anxious something in Len’s chest finally fell quiet at the feeling of having Barry this close. For the first time since Lewis had set eyes on Barry, Len felt some measure of calm return to him, as if all his rationality and self-control had only been waiting for Barry to wrap his arms around his waist and press his lips to his shoulder like this to come slinking back.

“Good?” Len asked, and Barry cleared his throat and leaned back to put a couple inches of space between them.

“Yeah, this, uh.” Barry’s gaze ticked up to meet Len’s before he glanced away again, and Len reigned in the urge to brush his lips over the faint tinge of pink spreading along his cheekbones. “This works.”

Len hid his smirk against Barry’s shoulder and helped him lift his hips, while Barry reached behind to angle himself down on Len’s cock. Len’s grip went hard enough to bruise as Barry lowered himself, exhaling on a soft hiss, and Len was grateful for the condom to buffer against the first onslaught of sensation.

He dropped his head back against the headboard harder than he’d meant to, and Barry exhaled a shaky laugh. The pain was a welcome distraction from the tight heat of Barry around his cock, and he tightened his hand on Barry’s hip to ground himself. A little too hard, he realized, when Barry breathed his name, voice strained, and slid a hand down his arm to deliver a quick, staccato tap-out against his wrist.

He loosened his grip and smoothed his hand up Barry’s side in apology, and they both groaned when Barry seated himself fully into Len’s lap. His chest brushed Len’s with every shallow breath, and Len ran his palm over Barry’s side again as he gradually relaxed against him. After a minute, Barry rolled his hips experimentally, and he grinned when Len swallowed back a groan.

“Yeah?” he asked. Len tried to glare at his smug tone, but Barry rocked back against him again, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut as he fought back the urge to thrust up to meet him.

Barry ran his hand up Len’s chest, found a grip on his shoulder, and used it to pull himself up and then press back, torturously slow, onto Len’s cock again.

The quiet, encouraging noise Len made as Barry worked up a rhythm was something that he would deny at gunpoint, but it was worth it for the way that Barry bit his lip and nodded in distracted agreement. His thighs were already trembling as he rocked down again, and one hand slipped down to brace himself against Len’s chest. Len steeled his resolve to let Barry find a pace, even as he had to dig his heels into the mattress to keep his hips still. Barry groaned and dropped his head forward, and his hair tickled Len’s collarbone when he rested his forehead against the back of his hand on Len’s chest.

Len slid his palm down to rest on one of his shaking thighs, and he traced an idle pattern across the scattering of freckles there as Barry caught his breath. He wasn’t sure how to verbalize the question, at least not in any casual way, but Barry seemed to understand, and he nodded against Len’s shoulder.

“No, yeah, I’m good,” Barry said. “This is just…” Intimate, Len’s mind supplied. Addictive. So _fucking good_ that Len didn’t know how he was supposed to go back to pretending that they could live without it.

“A lot,” Barry said at length, and Len snorted at the understatement.

Barry lifted his head to look at him, expression guarded, but he relaxed again when he realized that Len wasn’t laughing at him.

“You’re an asshole,” he said. The look in his eyes was warm and open, and a new spike of fear clawed at Len’s chest as some familiar instinct screamed at him to cut and run.

He considered the feeling, turned it over in his mind, and then accepted it with the mental equivalent of a shrug.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. Something like surprised flickered in Barry’s eyes, and then he smiled, small and hopeful, and no reservations could have stopped Len from kissing him then.

It was too much, too honest; he was giving Barry a knife and showing him where to use it. The quiet, happy sound Barry made against his mouth was louder than any of those doubts, though, and Len twisted the fear into resolve instead. He raked his fingers through Barry’s hair to angle him closer, and Barry arched against him and tightened around his cock.

Len broke the kiss with a shallow groan and rocked his hips up, and Barry dropped his head against his shoulder with a curse as he ground back against him. A vibration swept across Barry’s skin and Len pressed into it with a groan, pulling Barry in again until he was flush against his chest. Len felt Barry’s cock drag against his stomach on the next thrust, and Barry actually whined, a sharp needy noise in the back of his throat that made Len laugh even as he splayed his hand over Barry’s lower back and urged him closer.

“Shut u— _fuck_ , Len, right there, jesus,” Barry gasped against his chest, and he fumbled for a grip on Len’s shoulders as he pressed against him with another rippling vibration. Len repeated the shallow roll of his hips, trying to match the angle of his last thrust, and Barry dropped his head against his shoulder with a soft groan.

“Can I-” Len started, but Barry was already nodding, fingertips of one hand pressing against his shoulder blade as he hitched forward to drag his cock against Len’s stomach again.

Len tipped Barry onto his back, a little unceremoniously, but Barry only gave a breathless laugh and dropped his thighs open impatiently. Len caught one of his legs behind the knee and hooked it over his shoulder as he leaned over him, and they both groaned at the new angle as he pushed back in.

He drew back, almost all the way out, and Barry rolled his hips to meet Len on the next slow press. A vibration picked up under his skin again, and Len snapped his hips into it this time, making Barry arch with a shout as he dug his heel into Len’s back.

“Harder,” he panted, and his eyes were blown when he looked up at Len, only the barest sliver of green still visible. Len was all too happy to pick up the pace, and he snapped his hips forward again with a quick, hard thrust that made the box spring squeak beneath them. The intensity of Barry’s vibrations ratcheted higher, and Len dropped onto his elbows with an exhaled curse. Barry’s heel slipped over the sheets as he scrambled for leverage, and he pressed back against Len’s thrusts in a ragged counterpoint until he finally found traction and a rhythm snapped into place.

Barry’s breaths edged into shallow gasps, and Len realized that he was already close again. It was no small relief, given that he knew he wasn’t going to last another minute with the way Barry was vibrating and bucking up underneath him.

Len shifted his weight to one arm and reached up to press two fingers against Barry’s lips. Barry opened his mouth and let Len slip the fingers inside, and he swirled his tongue around them and made a cursory attempt at suction before another thrust from Len made him drop his head back against the mattress with a groan.

It wasn’t as good as lube would’ve been, but Len was fairly sure that Barry would kill him if he stopped to slick his fingers up now. He reached between them to wrap his hand around Barry’s cock, and Barry breathed Len’s name, then said it again, much more urgently, when he started to stroke. A spark of static jumped from his fingers when he closed them around Len’s wrist, and Len spared half a thought for the flammability of the sheets before disregarding it in favor of pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Barry's shoulder.

Barry's hand tightened on his wrist; he was trying to warn him, Len knew, and he sped his hand with a murmur of encouragement until Barry arched up against him, and came with a broken shout of Len's name.

His body thrummed like a live wire under Len, and Len fucked him through the aftershocks, rocking into him until it became too much and Len was right there after him, burying himself in the tight heat of Barry’s body and gasping his name against his shoulder as he came.

It was only with a concerted effort that Len managed to pull out and drop down next to Barry on the bed instead of slumping bodily on top of him. That might’ve kept him out of trouble for one goddamn minute, though, and he reconsidered the decision when Barry stirred next to him, far too soon for someone who’d just had back-to-back orgasms. Len rolled onto his side and dropped his arm against Barry to keep him in place, and Barry flopped back against the mattress with a good-humored huff.

“Is something burning?” Barry asked after a moment, and Len made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

“Think it’s the sheets,” he offered. Barry wiggled out from under his arm, and a moment later, he barked a surprised laugh. Len cracked an eye open to glare at him, but Barry only grinned in response.

“That’s never happened before,” he said, and he traced the singed patch where his fingers had been tangled in the bedding with apparent interest.

“Replacements are coming out of your cut,” Len grumbled. Barry quirked a smile at him, but some of the humor went out of his eyes at the reminder of the task ahead.

“Lisa’s going to be okay, you know,” he said, quietly. “We all are.”

“I know,” Len sighed, and he shifted onto his elbow to watch Barry pick nervously at the scorched cotton.

“We only have a few minutes,” Barry said eventually, and Len tipped his head in acknowledgment. Barry hesitated next to him, then reached out and closed his hand over Len’s wrist.

“Len, I…” He trailed off and started to withdraw his hand, then changed his mind, tightened his grip instead, and started speaking in a rush. “Look, I know that this is probably, uh, not the ideal time to say this. You have a lot on your plate right now, I get that. And I’m not like, trying to put this on you, but I just— I think that I—”

“Yeah,” Len said, cutting him off. His heart was beating too hard in his chest, almost painful in its intensity as he tilted his head to meet Barry’s surprised gaze, and he sighed and looked away again. “Right back at you.”

Barry blinked at him, stunned, and Len rolled his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to tamp down on a wry smile.

“Unfortunate, isn’t it?” he asked. He turned his gaze back to Barry and the corner of his mouth quirked up helplessly, and Barry searched his expression for a long moment, lips parted in silent disbelief. Then he laughed, bright and surprised and happy, and he threw himself across Len’s chest to kiss him.

 _Mistake,_ whispered the voice in Len’s mind, quiet and treacherous, and Len shoved the thought aside with a sharp lash of anger. Whatever this was, Len was going to hold onto it with both hands, and he swore a silent oath as Barry pressed his lips against his that no one—no one—would lay a hand on it and live.

**Author's Note:**

> I might get around to writing another chapter for this in the future, dealing with the fallout after Lewis "shoots" Barry during the heist, but it would probably be really emotional, clingy sex (like... more emotional and clingy than this was) and I'm not sure anyone actually wants to read that. 
> 
> Comments as always are appreciated, read thirty times, and all but printed out to hang on my wall. Thanks for reading!


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